


Becoming an Elite

by stevebuscemifan69



Category: World of Warcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 03:27:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3921217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevebuscemifan69/pseuds/stevebuscemifan69





	Becoming an Elite

“Mrrllgh?”

Murgle was a murloc. A small scaly amphibious creature that walked on two legs and was smart enough to form a tribe. The murloc life was a tough life. Hunting for fish was a constant burden, especially as seasons changed and the non-migrating Murlocs fought for whatever was left. And honestly murlocs just aren’t that nice to each other. Yeah you’ll hear a friendly “mrgrgrl” here and a polite “grlgrl” there, but the tribes still warred often, and spilt blood was not a rarity. The worst part of murloc life is that it wasn’t the fight for food or fight within that was the biggest threat, it was the Outsiders.  
Some outsiders were small, at about the height of a well-fed and well-raised murloc standing straight up. Other outsiders were as tall as 6 murlocs stacked on top of each other. Some were green, others brown, occasionally blue, and some were even furry. They had all kinds of weapons. Axes, staves, shields, and even big metal pipes that exploded in smoke. They had magic as well! Not just the natural magic Murgle’s tribe practice, but fire, ice, and what even seemed to be pure death itself. What really made them awful wasn’t what they were, but what they did.  
You could tell when they’d been nearby. Corpses of the wildlife would just lie on the road. Smashed, beaten, and quite often gutted. Most of them with their skins and their corpses left to rot in the open. It wasn’t just the wildlife being murdered either, the murlocs had their own run ins. A “Mlrlrlrrrlgr!” would be yelled, sometimes in the middle of the night, sometimes during a bright sunny day. Murlocs used to rally up, gather, and try to fight them off, but you could never tell how powerful a single outsider would be. They found this out day ten murlocs had been blasted by a single outsider, spewing a ring of frost then purple explosions. In less than a few seconds they were all gone. Murlocs populate fast and aggressively, but even that was a shock.  
So it was on this beautiful day that Murgle found himself sitting in a giant clam. They’d come again. Murlocs had taken up whatever hiding spots they could. Pots, the seaweed, huts, whatever could house their small bodies. Those that couldn’t sat around looking idle. If they played it cool then maybe, maybe, they’d survive the onslaught. Murgle could hear the yells through the water with his excellent murloc hearing, and he knew there hadn’t been any survivors. The outsiders swam, searching seaweed and finding stray murlocs. From his vantage point Murgle saw a Murloc die in valiant battle. Then they searched the murloc’s body for some copper pieces. Then one of them ripped out an eye.  
He was next, he had to do something. He wasn’t ready to die like the so many murlocs already had before him. Combat was not the answer. He was just as strong as any murloc in his tribe, why would he fare better? No way. This was his chance to try something that might actually keep him alive.  
An outsider was approaching his clam. A tiny outsider, with bright pink hair and giant green goggles. He saw little hands prying at the clam, trying to force it open. “Mrgle,” he counted. “Grgle.” “MRGRGLE,” he screamed as he burst out of the clam. And he swam. He felt hot as he swam. The little outsider was throwing fire underwater, but still he swam. Murgle was on fire, underwater, but he knew his only chance was to keep swimming. Another searing hot sensation. He turned around and saw the outsider far away, already swimming towards something else. He’d lost it.  
Murgle looked around now, unaware of his surroundings. He was still in the ocean, but farther than his tribe had ever hunted before. “Grglmurgle?” pondered Murgle aloud. He realized just how far his tribe normally travelled. He was out. He was in the free deep blue, no longer tied to the tiny hunting grounds. He continued to swim, unsure of what he’d encounter.  
The food wasn’t all that different. A lot of the fish he munched on looked like stuff he’d seen before. More importantly, it tasted the same too. The water was a little warmer than what he was used to, but in the end it wasn’t all that different from the tribe waters. Disappointed, Murgle swam towards the land. As he swam he noticed something shining near the coast. Now this was new, a rock glimmering with… glimmery rocks? He pulled at the shiny rocks, but they wouldn’t budge. A sudden splash caught his attention though. An outsider. He swam away as fast as he could.  
He didn’t feel any pain this time. Actually he didn’t feel anything at all. He turned and saw the outsider smashing into the rock. The glimmering rocks had the same color as the weapon the outsider had tied to his back. This was where they found the weapons, from glimmering rocks. The outsider smashed the rock to bits and swam back into the shore. Eagerly, Murgle swam back to the rock, picking up small bits of metal that had been left behind. Maybe he could make a weapon to protect himself?  
This outsider was purple, with bright blue hair, and much taller than most of the other outsiders. It walked into a small hut outlying what seemed to be an outsider village, and eagerly Murgle peeked through a window. In the hut the outsider began to deposit metals into a fire. With some sort of magic the metals were pulled out, placed on a dark metal, and smashed into the shape of a sword. The outsider walked outside, resting from being confined to the hot stuffy hut.  
Murgle looked at the metal pieces in his hands. This was his chance. He climbed through the window, into the hut. He tossed the metal into the fire and waited. And waited. He wasn’t really sure what to do next. He looked around the hut and saw trinkets and a pair of gloves lying on a table. The gloves wouldn’t fit his hands though, his fingers were too long and he only had three, unlikes the five on the gloves. He kept looking, and saw the sword the outsider had crafted on a table. He climbed onto the table, grabbed the sword. “MGRLG” he yelled as he jumped towards the window. As he scurried out he heard the outsider enter the hut and yell, but he was free  
He was armed too! The sword fit his hands perfectly well. It must have been for a smaller outsider. As he ran on towards the inland he wondered what he would do. He could go back to the village, but who knows if he could survive the next attack with just a sword. He needed more. The exploration had already armed him, maybe it could toughen him up.  
He wandered away from the village towards the inland. Nature looked like it normally did in his village, until the road passed over some dark ground. And the trees were all dead. And the bears didn’t look alive as they normally did, but they moved as fast as ever. He watched, and waited. The bears were clearly dead, and yet they wandered around aimlessly. An outsider was fighting the bears one at a time, having no trouble slicing them apart. After each kill, or whatever you do to the walking dead, it would take out a knife and flay the beast. Dead leather is better than no leather. Finally he wandered further down the road.  
So dying but not dying wasn’t a solution, but maybe this outsider could help him. He followed the outsider, this time it was killing alive bears. No difference from last time. His tiny daggers cut the bears up, despite the bears massive weight advantage. Finally he came upon a bear with grey fur instead of the typical brown fur found among living bears. And something strange happened. The bear won. The green outsider had stabbed and stabbed, but the bear didn’t seem to mind. When the outsider realized his danger he wandered away, but a strong swipe from the bear knocked him to the ground and left him to finish the kill. This grey bear was stronger than every brown bear and Murgle didn’t know why.  
Then he thought about his people. They all looked alike. Bright yellow, dark green. Both meshed outside of the red fins and hands. He had to look different. He prowled the forest, picking up everything he could that looked orange. Flowers, berries, remains, anything. He dumped everything he could into a pile and started rolling around in it. He would be different, this was his chance.  
The murloc village hadn’t had outsiders attack for days. When the first outsider appeared and the murlocs began to hide. Murgle stood strong, stood orange. He was no longer a normal murloc, he was an elite.


End file.
